


Lost and Vulnerable

by PlumOfTheWillow



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson Friendship, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-03-24
Packaged: 2018-05-20 22:00:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6026781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlumOfTheWillow/pseuds/PlumOfTheWillow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You witnessed a tragedy at a very young and impressionable age. You're just beginning to adjust to your new life on the streets when tragedy strikes again. You find yourself getting into more trouble than you have bargained for and run into a rather intriguing duo who wishes to help you in your predicament. Your story unfolds from there.<br/>Teen reader</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lost and Vulnerable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello...it's me. Had to do it, sorry. Hi! This is my first work, it'll be multi-chapters. Hopefully to be updated every Fri to Saturday. This chapter does not include Sherlock (yet). Consider it a prologue. Hope you enjoy! Leave your comments/concerns below please and thanks.

You woke with a start. Your eyes squinted against the harsh sunlight. Little droplets of water hit your body repeatedly as you sat up in your alley. You had claimed this alley a couple weeks back, scaring some crazed drug addict out of his usual spot. It was drizzling, but the sun was still shining bright.

"Stupid bipolar weather." You mumbled to yourself followed by a loud yawn. You grabbed your only belonging in this world, your black backpack, stood and walked away from your humble abode.

Your "home" consisted of a shabby mattress and an old tattered blanket you had "borrowed" from a laundromat. There was nothing to shield you from a potential downpour.

It was time to start your daily routine. However, you new that you needed to relocate soon. Staying in one place for too long meant that the Goons would most likely find you again. The Goons, as you called them, were large and muscular men always dressed in the same clothes, a blood red and white striped tie with a white dress shirt, black blazer, and black slacks. The thing you had noticed the most about their appearance was the type of suit every single Goon you had come across wore, Westwood. You had no idea if this was important, but it was a good way to recognize them. The Goons had been popping up ever since you were a child, right after the tragedy. The tragedy where you saw both of your parents brutally murdered in front of you. With no family to turn to, you ran from the police and began your life on the streets, merely a shadow in a world of dark figures. Maybe it was just a coincidence that you saw these type of men again and again. But as you had once read, "the universe is rarely so lazy."

You pushed aside the thought as you traveled to the petrol station close by. The door jingled as you entered and you made eye contact with blue orbs from behind the counter. The sandy-haired cashier, Steven, was a young man, no more than 23 years old. He was very handsome as well. You gave the cashier a polite nod and a small smile as you stepped into the washroom. The cashier had returned the gesture before returning to his duties. He was a nice man, always letting you use the washroom in the morning without having you purchase anything beforehand. It was a small gesture, but it meant a lot to you. 

You looked in the mirror of the washroom and sighed. Your hair stood up at alarming angles, and you looked at your teenage body. You honestly couldn't remember your exact age, but you guessed you were between 15-18 years old. You felt way older though. You had seen things no one should ever have had to witness at such a young age. Time just didn't seem to matter that much anymore. You wore a black leather jacket with a dark purple T-shirt, black jeans, and white sneakers. This outfit kept you comfy and it didn't let you stand out as much in a crowd. 

You sighed again as you grabbed a brush out of your backpack and began to try and tame the wild knots that ravaged your hair. After you did so, you thought your appearance had improved tenfold. You smiled and brushed your teeth with the toothbrush and toothpaste you "borrowed" from a pharmacy. 

_I've "borrowed" a lot of stuff in my lifetime_ , you thought with a sly smile.

You did not approve of stealing, but in your case, you would do whatever necessary to survive. You splashed some water in your face to wake yourself up a little more. As you did this, you heard the door to the station jingle, signaling the entrance of a customer. Silently, you prayed that the person would not enter the washroom. You really did not like socializing and being judged by strangers.

"How may I help you?" you heard Steven ask.

"We're looking for this young lady," said a rough Scottish accent, a rustle of paper had you assume he was holding up a flyer "We've seen her enter this establishment numerous times these past few days."

Your blood ran cold under your skin. You didn't need to see them, you knew these men were some Goons. 

"Shit." you mumbled to yourself "shit shit shit!"

You started to panic. You had no idea what to do in these situations. You were trapped in the washroom. You couldn't leave without them immediately spotting you. 

_Think!_  
You tried to compose yourself. You listened in on the conversation, seeing if the Goons might just leave.

"Don't play games man!" another Scottish accent said, this voice was slightly higher pitched though. "We have proof you've seen the lass."

"I-I-I've no idea what your talking about" Steven stuttered. You winced at how unconvincing he sounded.

"Pity" the deeper Scottish man said menacingly. You could hear the fake pout on his lips. The thought made you shiver.

"N-N-No! Please!" Steven's voice begged. Your eyes widened at his change of tone.  
"I swear I don't know her! I swear on my mother's grave!"

"Still, don't take this personally boy-o." You heard the sound of a gun safety releasing. You covered your mouth with your hands, eyes wide with terror. 

"It's just business." the high pitched Goon finished. 

The gun went off.

A thud could be heard as Steven fell to the floor.

 _No...oh god._ was all you could think as tears streamed down your face.

"There's our message." the deep Goon said. "if she returns here, she'll know."

The Goons left without another word.

_Oh no...they thought I wouldn't arrive until later, _you suddenly realized. You peered at your white wristwatch. You hadn't realized you had come to the station an hour earlier than usual.__

Your eyes were still teary, but you readied yourself for what you would see on the other side of the washroom door. After your feeble attempt to compose yourself, you opened the door.

It was so much worse.

You fell to your knees as you saw Steven behind the counter, blue eyes staring into a void of nothingness. One gunshot wound straight through his forehead. 

You couldn't breathe. You couldn't think. You could only stare at his expressionless eyes. 

Then, you swiftly reentered the washroom and emptied the little contents remaining in your stomach, into a toilet.

After your vomiting, you left the washroom once again. This time, not daring to look at Steven's corpse. 

That's when you noticed the flyer on the ground.

You slowly bent over and picked it up. On it, was a girl no more than 6 years old. She looked absolutely nothing like you, but you knew deep down that this indeed was you. It was you before the tragedy. Your hair and eyes had changed so much in your years on the streets. Your eyes no longer shone with the innocence of a child and your hair had grown tremendously longer and wilder. No wonder Steven said he didn't recognize you, he couldn't.

The thought made goosebumps ripple across your skin. You took one last glance at Steven. He looked so lost and vulnerable there, but you knew you couldn't tamper with anything. 

Slowly, you turned around, wiped the few remaining tears from your eyes, and walked calmly out of the station.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHH! So nervous. How was it? Good? Bad? Meh? Eek I hate the suspense. I personally, don't think this chapter was that great, but I'm gonna make sure the next ones are longer and better written. Give me a chance, maybe? Alright thanks for reading!


	2. Scared and Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hope you got some sneakers because this chapter involves a LOT of running. After your little jogging spree, you find a new friend, witness something terrible, and meet some interesting new characters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I DID IT! I have no clue why it took so long to finish. BUT I DID IT! Spring Break is here so I will attempt to update again really soon. Hope you enjoy! Comment if you did, please and thanks. Until the end, my friends.
> 
> BTW A hostel is kinda like a hotel, but not really. You live in a room with other people for a cheaper price. I didn't just spell hotel wrong haha.

Three days.

 _All it took was three days,_ you thought to yourself, the blood rushing out of your face as you looked at the gruesome scene laid out in front of you. 

Three days since you left that petrol station.

Three days since everything went to Hell.

.

After seeing Steven's cold corpse on the tiles of the petrol station, you broke into a run through the streets of London, scared and alone. Your only possession was your black backpack filled with the bare necessities. These included a hairbrush, toothbrush, toothpaste, change of street clothes, pajamas, and enough currency to reserve a room in a hostel for a week if things went awry. That was your current plan. Law low in a hostel for a night and book it to another part of the country.

 _Oxford should be nice this time of year,_ you thought, _a nice break away from the events that will surely traumatize me for the foreseeable future_. 

As these thoughts crossed your mind, you realized the complete ridiculousness of the plan. The plan was extremely impractical in every way. How on Earth were you going to endure the 18 hour trek to Oxford alone? 

_**Alone.** _

The word hit you with a sounding finality. You stopped in your tracks and looked around you, trying to regain your bearings. You began hyperventilating and you could feel your heart racing.

 _Why am I scared?_ you questioned yourself, _I am always alone. I will always be alone. Alone is good. Alone protects me._

Slowly, you calmed yourself and scolded yourself for the unnecessary panic. You understood that if you were to make it to adulthood, you needed to keep your head.

That being said, you continued your commute to the nearest hostel, the _Phoenix Hostel_ , and entered.  
It was on the street side and also housed a bar. It was an entirely brick building, maroon bricks on the lower level which turned into a pattern of brown bricks on the higher level. It was a quaint little building, only 8 pounds a night, and gave off a cozy little vibe. 

The bar itself was small, just the counter and a few booths by the wall. You passed the barkeep and he gave you a weary side glance. The look made you paranoid, but you did not show it as you ascended the stairs to book your room. 

The booking was easy, not at all like you expected. You had prepared yourself to answer a plethora of questions such as "Where are your parents?", "How old are you?", "How'd you get this money?" et cetera . Instead, you were greeted with a fake smile and a room number after you booked a room for a night. As you walked the corridor to your room, you thought about who may be your roommates.

_Probably students. Prepare for some awkward socialization._

You walked into your room and glanced around. The sight was slightly surprising. For a rate so cheap, you half-expected the walls to be peeling and for rats to be rampant. Instead, the room was clean, not immaculate, but tidy nonetheless. The walls were an eggshell white and there were two bunk beds situated across from each other, against the walls. One window was opposite to the doorway you were currently standing in, and under it was a small desk with a few scattered papers on top of it.

You directed your attention to the only other human in the room. She was propped up against the wall of the upper bunk on the bunk bed to the left. She had short brown hair, darker skin, and a pair of horn-rimmed glasses perched atop her nose. She was in her pajamas, a flower print spread upon her top and a pair of black sweatpants on. Around her were textbooks and papers scrawled with black ink. 

She paid no attention to you as you walked in, and did not even shift her gaze when you placed your backpack on the opposing bottom bunk. Based on the tidiness of the room, you believed that she would be your only roommate. A small wave of relief washed over you, the stress of having to introduce yourself to three new strangers gone. She still had yet to acknowledge your existence, and you felt the responsibility to start the conversation yourself.

Steeling up the nerves, you looked to the girl and opened your mouth to speak. Before you could say a word, she held up her hand to stop you.

"No need" she said "I understand how suffocating it is to introduce yourself to someone who you will probably not see ever again in your life. So let's not get into that."

For some reason, her words rubbed you the wrong way.

"Well then. Sorry for attempting to start a conversation with someone I will be sleeping with." you said angrily, crossing your arms over your chest. It took half a second for you to realize your mistake.

"Sleeping with?" she inquired, a small smile on her lips "Hold on now, we haven't gotten that far into the relationship, now have we?" 

You looked at her, clenching your jaw. You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks and ears. Wordlessly, you turned your back towards her and directed your attention to your backpack. You could hear her laugh from behind you. You didn't join in.

"Taylor." she said, after finishing her giggles.

"What?" you replied, back still facing her.

"My name." she said "It's Taylor".

"(y/n)" you replied after a beat of silence. 

"Pleasure to meet you, (y/n)" she said kindly.

"Likewise."

The silence that followed that conversation was not awkward. It was a comfortable silence, as if you both had known each other for a while and were comfortable in each other's presence. You broke the silence with an apology.

"Sorry for...bursting out like that" you said quietly "I've been on edge recently, so it wasn't really directed towards you."

"Don't even worry about it" she responded kindly "As you can see, I am currently drowning in information whilst preparing for my series of upcoming final exams." As she said this, she gestured towards the loads of work surrounding her like a fortress wall. 

"So I understand the whole 'on edge' situation" she finished.

You gave a small smile and returned to your backpack. You took out your extra pair of clothes to get to your pajamas. You looked at the pajamas thoughtfully, they were simple. A black T-shirt with a blue design and dark sweatpants. 

_It's getting late. Going to bed now isn't a bad idea._

You entered the bathroom next to the bunk you claimed and changed into your nightwear. You exited the room and climbed to the top bunk of your bed, the day's events catching up to you. You uttered a 'goodnight' to Taylor, collapsed onto the bed, and felt your eyes slowly drift down as you descended into sleep.

.

You ended up prolonging your stay at the hostel for a couple more nights. Mostly because your new friendship with Taylor made you reluctant to leave everything behind. In your extra few days, you learned a lot more about Taylor, and became pretty good friends with her. She had one older brother, who she lost in a car wreck a few months back. In his memory, she got a tattoo of his name, Martin, on her shoulder. She was a student at West London University and studying to become a doctor.

"Cliche, I know" she had said "but it pays the bills."

In the end, it was Taylor's goal to work at St. Bartholomew's Hospital, which was not far from the hostel in which you both currently resided at. 

It was your last night at the hostel now, but you couldn't decide whether or not you wanted to extend your stay at the Phoenix. On one hand, putting distance between the Goons and yourself seemed like a good plan, however, they hadn't caught up to you _yet_ and you met someone who you genuinely enjoyed talking to. Taylor was fast asleep after finishing her first exam today. She had been conversing with you all day since she got back, and you listened happily, enjoying the feeling of everything being normal for once. You really appreciated her, and you let the worry of your current situation mingle with your thoughts of friendship until you drifted off to sleep.

.

You woke up with a start. Your ears were ringing and Taylor sat bolt upright across the room.

_**Gunshot.** _

"What the hell?!" Taylor half-screamed.  
"Shhh!" you shushed her. You jumped down from the bunk, your mind racing and your heart threatening to beat right out of your chest. Taylor joined you on the ground, both of you in your nightwear. 

You followed your instinct and jumped to the door and locked it, thinking it could buy you time in case the shooter attempted to get into the room. Taylor had fear etched in her eyes and you felt a tinge of pity for your friend. You looked around the room, assessing what could be used as a weapon and what methods of escape you and Taylor had available. 

"Call the police" you said hurriedly.

Taylor just stared at the door.

"Taylor" you said, standing in front of her "Call. The. Police."

It took a moment, but she regained her senses and lunged for her phone, dialing 999 at an inhuman speed.

While Taylor was semi-hysterical with the operator on the line, you were stunned by the silence in the hallway. No screaming. No more gunshots. Just one. Not a murder spree, a single kill. 

_Not for me. Can't be for me. I should have left. I should have left. I should have..._

The operator told Taylor for both of you to remain in your room with the door locked until the police arrived, so you did. The sirens came quick, but it seemed like an eternity before a man knocked on the door to your room to inform you and Taylor to open up. 

"Hello, ladies" said the officer. He was a tall and gaunt looking man, with medium length brown hair and blue eyes. 

You and Taylor were sitting on the lower bunk of Taylor's bed. She had been freaking out the entire time, so you moved to her in order to provide some sort of comfort.

"My name is Phillip Anderson" he said in his British accent "I understand you both may be experiencing some shock at the moment, but we need both of you to come with us to answer some questions about-"

"Hold on, Anderson" said a gruff accented voice from the doorway.

A man stepped into the room, graying hair perched atop his head and a slightly wrinkled face that showed years of wear from stress on the job. He had his hand up towards Anderson, interrupting his discussion with you and Taylor. The man looked towards you both and offered a small, but fake, smile. He then gestured for Anderson to leave the room. Anderson followed his gesture, but he did not seem happy about it for a second. The interaction made you believe that the graying man was Anderson's superior, and was about to deliver some news that Anderson did not want to hear.

You attempted to listen in on the conversation, however, you could not manage to hear anything no matter how hard you strained. Instead, you busied yourself with packing your items back into your backpack and making a plan to bolt whenever you got the chance. You did not get along well with the concept of police. You liked to avoid them at all cost, in fear that they may connect you back to the tragedy which started your life on the street. 

You barely had any time to hatch a plan when you heard Anderson shriek "NO!" from the hallway. You looked towards the door, half-expecting the man to barge into the room and throw a tantrum. Instead, the graying man himself walked in, Anderson in his wake, red in the face. 

"D.I. Lestrade" the man said, holding his hand out for a shake, which you accepted "from Scotland Yard. You both are witnesses to one event in a series of murder/suicides. We'll need to ask you both a few questions. Here is fine if that works best for you both."

You looked over to Taylor, who seemed at a loss for words. Seeing she would provide no help, you responded to Lestrade.

"Yes, that works fine." you remembered Anderson's outburst in the hallway, "What was the yelling about?"

Lestrade didn't understand what you meant for a second, when he realized, he rubbed his neck in embarrassment and shot a dirty look at Anderson. Anderson didn't make eye contact with him and you couldn't help but snicker at his idiocy. You stopped when he scolded directly at you. Lestrade caught the exchange and sent Anderson out of the room. It took all of your willpower not to stick your tongue out like a child as he strode out of the room.

"The commotion out there was Anderson reacting to a..." he hesitated "n-new officer. Yes, a new officer joining the case."

"Really?" Taylor interjected, "I never thought he wouldn't be a team player."

Lestrade chuckled at the sarcasm, and Taylor couldn't help but smile.

_She's settled down a bit._

You couldn't help but think that Lestrade was holding something back from you. Why would a 'new officer' twist Anderson's panties so much?

_He knows him._

It wasn't a question. You knew for a fact that Anderson must hate this 'officer' because he has some sort of history with them. Your hands got clammy at the thought of an extremely butch and bearded man walking through the doorway and staring you down. 

Lestrade addressed you and Taylor.

"I'll just ask a few routine questions and then you both may go."

"Go?" you said, incredulous to how it could be so easy.

"Yes, go" he replied, "You both have very limited knowledge on the whole situation, so there's no point in wasting your time."

"We appreciate that" Taylor said.

.

Lestrade's questions were routine indeed. Nothing of what you said surprised him, considering all you heard was a single gunshot. He actually seemed slightly disappointed you both didn't have more to offer. It tempted you to just make something up in order to make him happy, but you knew better. 

"Well" he said, getting up from his seat with a grunt, "That's all I have for you lot. Thank you for your cooperation. You are free to leave."

With a sigh of relief, you picked up your backpack and started for the door, Taylor behind you. Taylor was going to be off to her college for another exam and you were going to wander around and collect some more money from passerby. You finally decided that you were going to stay one last day in the Phoenix, just to give Taylor an adequate goodbye.

As you were approaching the hallway you were stopped in your tracks by Anderson blocking your path.

"The psychopath is here" he said, annoyed. 

"Anderson, don't talk out loud. You lower the IQ of the whole street." said a deep, unfamiliar voice which seemed to vibrate the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did ya like it? I hope so. Sorry for the cliffhanger, but I really felt like it was a good way to wrap up the chapter. Stick with me for the next update? Thanks, my friends. Catch you on the flip side.


	3. Cold and Distant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one week? I'm on a roll!   
> Nah but seriously, I plan to try and add a new chapter this week, but don't hold me to it. School is coming up now and I haven't even started my HW. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy. Leave any questions/comments/concerns/suggestions in the comments. <3

The deep voice seemed to reverberate throughout the room. It was slightly overwhelming, actually.

You stepped out of the way as Anderson and two other men followed into the room. Lestrade had a solemn expression spread across his face, as if he just started to regret his decision on inviting this 'new officer'.

You looked at whom you presumed to be this 'officer', the tall man with the pronounced jaw and cheekbones. His brown curly hair was unruly atop of his head, the dark trench coat he wore matched his hair. He didn't make eye contact with you as he passed by, but you caught a glimpse of his piercing blue eyes. He smelled of coffee and smoke. Not cigarette smoke, more like a chimney smoke. A campfire.

The other man was shorter, with dark blonde hair and blue eyes. He followed closely behind the deep-voiced man and seemed to keep a more professional posture, as if he spent time in the army. He, however, did make eye contact with you, and his kind eyes held mystery, which made you extremely curious. 

_Get out. More cops, more problems._

While you had been studying the new arrivals, Taylor had left to campus, probably fearing she would be late if she lingered around any longer. Yet you couldn't seem to make yourself leave. You wanted to stay and see what these newcomers had to say about the event that took place that morning. But you knew that if you did so, the likelihood of the police finding your relation to your childhood trauma would go through the roof. Deciding to not risk it, you once again began to make your way towards the doorway.

"Where are the witnesses?" the deep-voiced man said coldly to Lestrade.

The inquiry made you stop in your tracks, back towards the men in the room. 

_Leave before they realize your stupid ass is still here._

You didn't move.

"We've released them." Anderson said matter-of-factly.

"You...you released them?" the deep voiced man said slowly.

He then broke out into a set of fake chuckles, leaving the room in shocked silence.

After he settled, he addressed Anderson directly.

"Your idiocy never ceases to reach new bounds, Anderson" he said harshly, "You both obviously know I would want to speak to them, correct? Or am I being too quick to come to that conclusion. Please educate me, John. Did I make too big a leap?"

"Sherlock..." the man you assumed to be 'John' said warningly.

"Alright, Sherlock" Lestrade said, defeated, "one of them is behind you. Just get to it."

"Gladly." this 'Sherlock' person said, turning towards you, the dumbfounded girl just watching the exchange without saying a word.

He scanned you up and down. The event was bizarre and left you feeling naked. You shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, not making direct eye contact with Sherlock or anyone else in the room.

"You said two." Sherlock said, still looking directly at you. For a moment, you thought he was talking to you, but you realized he was talking to Lestrade when he replied.

"The other went to her university" he said nonchalantly, "they both witnessed to same thing so-"

"So this one alone will do fine" Sherlock finished.

_This one? That kinda hurts. Just tell him the same things and be ready to book it. This place is rampant with police._

The thought made you paranoid, and you shifted your stance. Sherlock's eyes narrowed slightly at you, as if he was genuinely curious to why you just moved.

_He knows. He knows. Run. He knows, oh god._

Sherlock turned around now, apparently bored with your presence, and addressed Lestrade.

"Take her to the station" he said, "once John and I are finished here, we will join you."

Sherlock didn't wait for a reply, he strode out of the room with John in his wake.

His last statement made you pale, and you cursed yourself for not leaving when you had the chance. You looked toward Lestrade helplessly, hoping he would go against Sherlock's words and let you go. Instead, he sighed and stepped towards you.

"Well," he said, "let's get a move on, then."

Anderson let out an annoyed sigh and stomped past you. Lestrade gestured for you to follow. You hesitated at first, but left the room and walked down the corridor in pursuit of Anderson, Lestrade not trailing that far behind. You saw ahead what must be the crime scene, a room with two policemen outside and caution tape blocking the doorway. When you got close to the room, you paused and peered inside. You saw John standing in the middle of the room, Sherlock kneeling down over something. You moved you head slightly to see what he was kneeling over. To your horror, you saw it was a body. A human body. Blood pooled on the ground.

_Steven._

The man had short brown hair and extremely fair skin. His paleness was disturbing and his brown eyes stared into nothingness.

 _Steven._

A single bullet hole was straight through his forehead.

The man on the floor now had blonde hair and blue eyes, a permanent grotesque smile spread across his features. You blinked.

_Not Steven. Steven is in the petrol station. Steven was blonde. Steven is dead._

You had been staring at the scene, and Sherlock now stared at you. John was talking to Sherlock, but he was not paying attention to what he was looking at. You made eye contact with Sherlock and realized that you must look like you've just seen a ghost. Quickly, you continued down the hallway, feeling Sherlock's stare on your neck. Lestrade had stopped for a moment to talk to an officer at the scene, but now he was behind you once again.

You descended the stairs of the Phoenix and saw police cars surrounding the area outside. The sight made you nauseous, the world swam in front of your eyes for a moment but you just gripped the railing a little tighter as you finished descending the stairs. Lestrade then led you to a police car and opened the back door for you politely. You got into the car, uttering a small 'thanks' while Lestrade got into the front seat. Anderson joined in on the passenger side and Lestrade began the silent commute to the station.

.

You were officially ready to spontaneously combust. 

You currently sat alone in an interrogation room, your hands extremely clammy and shaking slightly. You sat behind a steel table that was bolted to the floor, the window of glass in front of you reflected your disheveled form, but you knew that this pane of glass was a one-way mirror. You felt like a criminal, as if you were responsible for the murder itself, even though you could easily prove your innocence.

Lestrade had led you to this room about half an hour ago, informing you that within the hour, you should be free to leave. The thought had comforted you at the time, but now, as you sat in the room alone, your thoughts ran rampant.

_They are gonna find out who I am._  
_Steven. Oh god, they have to have found Steven. His blood is on my hands. I'm the reason he's dead. What if they find out my name? I lied to Lestrade, Taylor didn't notice._  
_They think my name is Naomi. Roll with it, (y/n). You can do this._

After you had semi-calmed yourself down, the door opened to reveal Sherlock and John.

John gave you a small smile while Sherlock wielded a poker face as he sat down in front of you.

"Hello" John said, when Sherlock did nothing but stare "I'm John Watson, and this is my colleague Sherlock Holmes. We are just going to revisit some questions that-"

"Leave." Sherlock interrupted.

John seemed taken aback. "What?" he asked.

"Leave." Sherlock repeated, cold and distant. His eyes still took in every inch of your form.

You shot a feeble glance of helplessness at John, silently begging with your eyes for him not to leave you with the man not four feet away from your face. He seemed to have a moral war within himself for a moment, but he gave you a look of pity before he walked out the door, closing it behind him.

You looked helplessly towards the door, willing it to open. When that failed, you looked at Sherlock. He was staring at you silently. It shouldn't have surprised you. All of your interactions with this man so far had consisted of awkward staring. You pondered how much a man could stare before his eyes got tired. You looked everywhere but at Sherlock, attempting to think of something else while his piercing blue eyes scanned your every move. Finally, after what seemed like hours, he leaned back in his seat and let out a small sigh.

"How long?" he asked.

It wasn't the question you had been expecting.

"What?" you said, confused.

He let out a dejected sigh, as if they question he had just asked was completely justified and that you were an idiot for thinking otherwise. 

"Ever since I saw you" he said, "you've been jumpy. Constantly scanning your surroundings. As if you were just waiting for something to happen. Usually, I would just write you off as paranoid, maybe something in your childhood traumatized you..."

You tensed when he said that. He noticed.

"Interesting" he said thoughtfully, leaning forward slightly, "Well then, I seem to have answered my own question then, haven't I? Oh, I love it when I do that."

You had absolutely no clue what the hell Sherlock was talking about.

"D-did you get what you need, then?" you stuttered.

He ignored your question and continued as if you did not pose it.

"Running your whole life? Must be full of excitement" he said, whilst you paled, "Being chased by someone. No, _someones_ , isn't it? More than one."

His hands were steepled in front of his face now. His eyes narrowed and his head slightly tilted, like a puppy who just heard a curious noise. His revelations made your blood freeze. You opened your mouth to say something when the door opened and Lestrade walked in, panting slightly.

"Sherlock" he panted.

"Graham!" Sherlock shouted, causing you to flinch, "I have told you countless times not to bother me when working a case. A case in which you _asked_ for my assistance!"

"They've found the murderer" Lestrade said, not wavering.

The sky seemed to have opened up above you.

_I can leave. God is real._

"Have they now?" Sherlock inquired, voice dripping with sarcasm, "Well, I'll make sure to talk with them after I'm done here. Goodbye, Detective Inspector."

Lestrade looked at you and you made the facial expression that can only be described as true horror.

 _Do not leave me here_ you thought, _Lestrade for the love of all that is holy, **please**_.

Lestrade caught on to your silent pleas and turned to Sherlock.

"This young lady has had enough of your prodding" he said firmly, "we don't need her anymore."

Sherlock looked towards you.

"Hmm" he said thoughtfully, "Perhaps you're right." he finished.

"No Sherlock!" Lestrade said angrily, "We do not need-" he paused, realizing what Sherlock just said "wait, what?"

"I am not saying it again, Lestrade" Sherlock said, annoyed, "One moment is all I ask for."

Lestrade was stunned. He could not believe that Sherlock just agreed with him, it seemed like a miracle. You took note of the exchange, and if you were not as terrified as you were in that moment, you probably would have laughed at the expression on his face.

"A-alright." he said after a beat of silence, "One moment."

With that being said, he walked out of the room, leaving you with Sherlock once again.

_They've found the murderer already! What else does he want?_

"You are being chased" he said, "that goes without question. If you choose to leave, you will be alone in the streets once again, left to the whims of your pursuers. Or you can stay here, and be protected by the incompetent yet armed police forces. The choice is yours, but I suggest you ponder the weight of your decision, _Naomi_."

As he said this, he had leaned forward, hands resting on the table. His voice was menacing now, not just a dull vibration that filled the room. He stressed your alias, giving you the impression that he knew it was a fake name.

_He's right. I have to stay...If I leave, they'll find me. I have no choice. I have no-_  
**Wait.**  
_You've survived your whole life alone, (y/n). You know how to get around on the streets. Just leave, run, and never turn back. You can handle this on your own._

"I'm glad you've found the killer" you told Sherlock, your decision made, "Have a good day."

You stood up, and Sherlock did the same. His lip twitched and he shook his head slightly. 

"Well," he said, "Good luck."

.

You had walked out past everyone on the way out of the station, making sure to not make eye contact so they would not notice you. Your backpack stayed on your back as you walked the streets of London, alone again. You decided to lay low for a day or two, not returning to the Phoenix. You felt a slight pang in your chest at not saying farewell to Taylor, but you knew that it was best for her well-being. You were danger. You brought danger to those you cared for, Steven being the prime example of that. You didn't want that to happen again, so you made the choice to leave without a word. 

You made the plan to go back to your original alley for the night, since the entire interrogation process had taken up the daylight. Tomorrow, you would start the long trek to Oxford and hopefully start a new life. Until the Goons caught up to you, of course. Then you would adapt and readjust again. 

You found you way back into the alley and was pleased to see the mattress still remained in its same position. Its questionable stains seemed homey to you compared to the day you just endured.

You laid on it and let the exhaustion of the day carry you into sleep.

.

_Pressure._

_Pressure...on my mouth?_

You opened your eyes.

A hand was clamped over your mouth. Keeping your scream quiet. You struggled against the hand, but it was too strong.

"MmmMMmmmPh" you tried to scream.

"Wakey-wakey" said a deep Scottish voice above you.

"Took a while, but we fooooouuunnnd youuuuu" another, higher-pitched voice said in sing-song.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You don't need to hear from me at both ends of the chapter...but I love leaving these little notes.  
> Hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Leave any questions/comments/concerns/suggestions in the comments below. <3


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